No Wife, No Children, No Problem

The girls have gone with their mother
To her parent's house out in Bacliff.
I am home alone now,
By myself in my own house.

So peaceful, so quiet, so zen.
No TV, no stereo, no computer,
Nor any shouting or fighting or drama.
No "Daddy!" or "Michael!"

I sit with a cup of coffee and
The Houston Chronicle at my table
Listening to the wind chimes out front
And to the sounds of my house and the outside.

Just for these few hours of stillness
I am at one with myself in my own home.
This perfect and peaceful Sunday morning,
No wife, no children, no problem.

My Father's Lessons

My father tried to teach me many lessons
And he was sucessful as only he could be.
He did his best as his best would allow
Because he himself did not have the best of teachers.

My father successfully taught us many things
As only his love could teach us, his sons.
He still teaches us today,
His lessons in life and love not ever ending.

I could try to sum up his lessons
In these lines of verse and rhyme,
But it just wouldn't do him justice.
No, my father's lessons couldn't be so contained.

Instead, his lessons and his love
And what I truly learned are
What I teach my own, his granddaughters.
My father's real lessons are his unending love.

Our State's Addiction

I'm hesitant to write this poem,
Being from Texas and all.
It is a touchy subject
And I've found my poetic balls.
I'm putting my pen to paper and
Am making a moral stand.
It's not so much that I'm against the death penalty
So much as to how we do it when we do.
I'm about to piss off a lot of people
And maybe even meet a few's approval.
We, the taxpayers, the registered voters, the citizens of The State of Texas;
You and I will kill someone uselessly or otherwise this Evening and call it right.
We'll execute a man or woman, exercising our Collective power and authority in the name of the law.
The question of innocence or even if we have the right One won't come to mind, as we've decided that issue Legally in a courtroom years earlier.
We've caged them like animals for 23 out of the day's 24 hours for a number of years in a closed space the Size of a walk in closet with a
Sink, a toilet, and maybe a window little larger than a Book and we called it humane.
We've fed them small portions of cold or maybe Lukewarm food 3 times a day, fattening them up for The State's ritualized oblation.
Only a few courageous souls will protest and stand in Defiance to us,
Only a few brave and thinking souls standing vigil Outside the gates.
Inside a clean and antisceptic red brick room behind Fences and razor wire And safety glass, you and I will Insert a needle into a living being strapped atop an Altar/gurney.
With a certain detatchment from consciousness we'll Slip it in and hopefully we'll hit a vein on the first Attempt.
Then we'll push in three lethal doses of otherwise Therapeutic drugs and call it justice.
After the deed is done, we'll return what's left to to a Family robbed of A life or deposit what remains in a Hole on Peckerwood Hill marked by only a
State issued number because we've taken their name As well.
We'll ready the altar/gurney in the temple death Chamber for our next sacrifice and continue with the State sanctioned religion.
We'll do it again and again, our State's addiction, Taxpayer and voter approved.

On The Job

I'm on the job at the prison infirmary,

It's not much, really insignificant actually.

It pays the bills and keeps food on the table

And a roof over our heads.

We're all locked up together - prisoners and security

And nursing staff alike behind gates and walls and wire.

I might work, really work, for 5-6 hrs. Then I spend the

Remaining hours waiting for something to happen.

Sometimes it's inevitable and expected

Other times it's not and it's so all of a sudden.

Most times, it's hours of pure boredom

Punctuated by minutes of seemingly pure chaos.

I get into my 12 hr routine and hope nothing disturbs it.

People die here and sometimes babies are born here

Although that's really not quite so commonplace.

Mostly they heal and go back to where they

Came or to some other place to die or live

Out the rest of their lives. At least, until they come back my

Way again. I've seen people come and go

Over the years, patients and staff and others.

I roll with the punches and take it one day at a time.

The weeks become months and the months become years,

They blend one into the other as do the faces and the names

And the numbers. Every now and again something or someone

Will stand out of the ordinary. In and out the gate and back again,

One shift after another. One day I'll find the balls

To go through the gate one last time, just like an inmate

Up for parole or release and finally free. Jimmy Woods was right,

Sometimes you'll find yourself in the TDCJ rut.